


Special

by rangerhitomi



Series: radical dreamers [22]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Fire Emblem - Support Conversations, M/M, Past Lives, mild alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: Their relationship grows, from a prince who admires a knight in training to a king who loves his loyal knight.





	Special

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be one of those stories that followed the "three times character did X and one time he did Y" format, but it ended up being more like support conversations in Fire Emblem. So it's vaguely a Fire Emblem-verse type thing. If you are unfamiliar with the series, all you need to know to understand the format of this fic is that support conversations start at C-rank, or "two characters sort of talk to each other," then move to B-rank, A-rank, and S-rank (like, the characters will die for each other).

**_C._ **

The new recruits are dripping with sweat in the sweltering sun as they do stretches and go for their mid-afternoon run around the palace. Some appear to be on the verge of passing out; others chug water like mead, and a few vomit from the exertion. Only one seems unfazed by the heat, and he is also the only one that hasn’t abandoned his shirt. Though pale-skinned and slight of stature, he carries himself with a grace it seems none of the others have, and with his unusual silver hair, he stands out among the crowd.

Of course, it helps that he had been a knight in training before.

When the knight-general dismisses them for the evening, nearly all of them are exhausted and dragging themselves to the baths to mop up the dirt and dried blood from the day's rough training.

"Durbe!"

The knight-in-training turns in surprise. His pale face has a reddish hue to it, and he has clearly sweat as much as any of the other men. Though he breathes heavily, they are controlled breaths from exertion and not exhaustion. Even his slight body has a defined tone to it from his years of training. "Prince Nasch?"

It's a testament to how tired he must be, not dropping to his knee upon seeing Nasch, but he still bends his shoulders forward in a respectful bow. Nasch gestures for him to straighten up. "I watched you today, Durbe."

Durbe opens and closes his mouth a few times before his expression settles on bemused and he says easily, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be like that." Nasch frowns at him and waves him on to follow. "Walk with me?"

It's not a command, but a suggestion that Nasch knows Durbe will follow; even still, Durbe glances longingly toward the baths before falling in step with Nasch.

"Is there, er, something you needed from me, my prince?"

"Yes, but not here."

Durbe makes a small noise that sounds like a combination of confusion and reluctance but continues to follow Nasch until they reach the palace stables. After casually glancing around to make sure they were alone, Nasch turns back to Durbe, takes a deep breath, and blurts out, "will you teach me the sword?"

He's not sure what he expects from Durbe---an outright refusal, a reluctant acceptance---but Durbe simply laughs quietly and shakes his head. He's clearly amused, and Nasch scowls. "My prince, your father would flay me to within an inch of my life if he knew I was training you in war."

"I'm the prince," Nasch retorts, crossing his arms. "Someday I will be king. Do I not deserve to know the sword?"

Durbe half-nods and shrugs, not quite meeting Nasch's eyes. "That's not my place."

"You're training to be a knight."

"Yes," Durbe replies gently, lifting a hand and hesitating for a heartbeat before placing it on Nasch's shoulder." _Training_. Please do not forget that I am not a native of these lands and that you had to extend much of your influence with the palace court to grant me the opportunity even to _train_ to be a knight in your service. I will not betray that for your whims."

"Durbe--"

"Please excuse me, I am in need of washing so as not to offend anyone at dinner." Durbe bows his head again and turns away. "Have a good evening, my prince."

Nasch watches him go and sighs in frustration.

  


**_B._ **

Even a few hundred meters away, Nasch can hear the raucous laughter and music from the tavern. It's not a place he wants to go, but he's heard rumors and needs to see for himself how undisciplined the future Sir Durbe is once he's had a few drinks in him.

He steps inside and tugs his cloak over his face. Hopefully, with everyone under the influence of alcohol, no one will recognize him.

Durbe is easy to spot. He sits at a table with some of the other trainees, and they appear to be having a drinking contest of some sort. Judging by the way they huddled around Durbe and cheer, there's a clear favorite.

He watches the scene unfold, chest burning painfully. He doesn't know what it is that is causing him such discomfort. Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't want to be here, and doesn't even know really why he convinced himself to come here. Maybe it's the fact that the knight-to-be that he admires so much is so weak to strong drink that he feels no qualms making a spectacle of himself in public.

Nasch approaches the table at the end of the drinking contest and taps Durbe on the shoulder. It takes a second for Durbe to focus his eyes on the person attempting to get his attention.

"What are-"

"Come with me." Nasch pulls him to his feet and drags him away from the other trainees before either Durbe or one of them says his name out loud and he ends up becoming the center of attention.

It's hard to find an empty table in the room, but Nasch manages to spot one at the very back and sits Durbe in the seat across from him.

Durbe sighs loudly. "Can I help you, my prince?"

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here a lot."

"So I've heard." Nasch's voice comes out icy. "So the most promising knight in training, the one who may someday be the knight general of this kingdom, likes to get completely drunk and act like an idiot in public?"

Durbe sighs again and covers his face with a hand. "This is a way to relieve myself of the stress of being one of your future knights, N--my prince."

"This is a terrible form of stress relief, Durbe."

"Regardless, it helps."

"You're making a fool of yourself," Nasch repeats firmly, "and your actions when you are away from the palace still reflect on your station as a whole."

Durbe rubs his nose. He can't seem to focus on Nasch's face so he stares at the table. "Fine. I just need some water and I'll return."

Nasch pushes his chair back and makes his way wordlessly through the crowded tavern, yelling to the barkeep over the din for a glass of water. The keep looks disappointed in Nasch's choice of drink--water costs nothing for visitors to the tavern--but slides over a glass, and Nasch makes his way back to Durbe.

But Durbe isn't alone.

A pretty girl, maybe a year or so younger than Nasch, sits on Durbe's lap, stroking his face as she giggles. As Nasch gets closer, he hears her say "Oh, tell me more about being a knight!"

The burning in Nasch's chest intensifies. He makes it to the table, slams down the glass of water, and leaves without another word.

  


**_A._ **

It's late the next night, but Durbe is still working; research, studies, and reports are all important parts of being a knight, so he'd explained once. Nasch waits for him around the corner from the hallway near the library, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.

Durbe isn't paying attention when he rounds the corner and runs right into Nasch, dropping a handful of papers on the floor in the impact.

"Please forgive me, I wasn't--"

He freezes halfway through bending to pick the papers up, straightening with almost comic slowness. Nasch stares straight up at his face as he reaches down, gathers the papers, and presses them into Durbe's hands.

"Thank you." Durbe's voice is more strained than usual; he stares at the papers, biting his lip.

"I'd like to talk to you," Nasch says quietly, "about last night."

Durbe squeezes his eyes shut and exhales heavily. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

"So am I."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"Not just me."

Durbe's sigh sounds more like a frustrated growl. "What do you want?" At Nasch's raised eyebrows, he reluctantly adds "my prince."

Now that Durbe is here in front of him, sober and tired and anxious, it's harder for Nasch to find the courage to say the words he'd rehearsed in his head since last night. He takes a breath and a stab at it. "Do you often make it a habit of picking up pretty girls in taverns?"

"Wh..." Durbe's mouth opens slightly and his eyebrows knit together. "Is that what... is that what this is about?" His voice holds more than a bite of anger.

Nasch hates to ask this, or even _insinuate_ it, but he needs to know. _It's none of your business what he does on his nights off,_ he tries to tell himself. "As a knight, you will swear oaths."

The papers in Durbe's hands fall to the floor again; they shake uncontrollably. "It is, firstly, not what was happening, nor has it ever happened." He is definitely angry now. It's Nasch's turn to look away. "Secondly, even if it was, it is not your concern who I consort with."

Nasch's chest burns. "It is if you fail in your duties to your kingdom."

"Was I? Was I failing in my duties to my kingdom, or do you have a misguided idea that I somehow failed _you_?"

That was exactly it, but Nasch can't figure out how to say it without sounding pathetic, so he sighs softly and looks at the ground where the papers are once again strewn at Durbe's feet. "I just want... you to be safe."

"I'm a warrior." Some of the bite has left Durbe's voice. "I can handle a few drinks." Durbe sighs and bends down to retrieve the papers. "If I have embarrassed you, or if you feel I have made a fool of myself, I will quit strong drink and behave in the manner appropriate for a knight."

"I don't want you to isolate yourself."

Durbe reaches out with one hand and pauses before resting it on Nasch's arm. Nasch's breath hitches in his throat at the touch. "It's a bad habit," he says quietly, "and you are right. It distracts from my duties. I use it..." He hesitates. "It's easy to forget your worries when liquid courage is there for you. But perhaps I shouldn't run from my past."

He seems to be talking to himself at this point and Nasch slowly reaches up to touch Durbe's hand. Durbe pulls away before he gets there and Nasch lets his hand fall.

"For what it's worth," Durbe says with a sigh, "that girl will sit on any handsome man's lap."

"Did she tell you that, or are you deluding yourself into thinking you're handsome?"

Durbe's laugh is a little forced, but he smiles nonetheless. "Aren't I?"

He walks away, leaving Nasch more flustered than Nasch thought he would be.

 _Yes,_ he thinks, staring after Durbe's strong shoulders and stately walk, _you are._

  


**_S._ **

The king and queen's funeral is too much, too soon.

A terrible illness struck the kingdom and killed a few hundred people before the healers managed to subdue it. But they were unable to save Nasch and Merag's parents, the king and queen. Nasch tried to be brave for them, for his people, for the men under his command. He tried to be brave for his sister. But he struggled with the knowledge that, now, he was king at the age of eighteen, expected to rule with wisdom and experience that he simply did not have. How could he?

The day is warm and the sun bright as his feet carry him into the gardens. He collapses onto a bench under a fruit tree and buries his head in his hands. He can't cry anymore; he'd shed enough tears over the past few days. He doesn't need to look to know that Durbe, his stalwart and dutiful knight, has followed him and now waits a few feet away.

"I'm not ready for this."

 _You are, my lord, you can do anything_ are the words he'd heard from all the nobles since their deaths. Delusional words, and he braces himself for more.

"I know," Durbe says instead.

"I-I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know."

"Gods, I don't even know what I'm _supposed_ to do."

Durbe doesn't have a response to this, but Nasch appreciates his silence more than any empty reassurances that he'd be just fine.

"That night a few months ago, when I berated you for drinking. You said something that I've thought about ever since."

Durbe makes a soft noise from behind him. "What might that have been, my prince?"

"You said you drank because you were afraid to face your past." He turns and looks at the knight, who wears a sorrowful look on his face that Nasch is sure has little to do with the funeral. "What did you mean?"

For a long time, Durbe simply stands there in the sun, hands clasped behind him as he stares at the ground. Nasch waits.

Finally, he gestures to the seat next to Nasch. "May I?"

Nasch nods and Durbe sits gingerly on the edge of the bench. He leans forwards, hands now clasped together in front of him while his elbows rest on his knees. Without his armor, he is smaller, somehow; in the ceremonial silks he seems... softer.

"I have a... difficult past," Durbe says quietly. His gray eyes focus on the cobblestones ahead.

"Before you came here, you mean."

"Yes." Durbe's shoulders slack. "If your father had known the things I had done before coming here, I certainly never would have been allowed anywhere near you, or in the palace for that matter, unless it was in the dungeons. I lied to him, to you, to give myself a second chance. To start over." He laughs bitterly. "I repaid him poorly, and he is gone now. How his memory must resent me."

Nasch wonders if touching Durbe would trigger something in him; despite his burning curiosity--and he _is_ curious, though he has a few ideas what demons lay in Durbe's past--he sees only a man he knows he can trust.

So he places his hand on Durbe's face.

Durbe's startled gasp is audible. He jerks away, leaving Nasch's hand hovering in the air next to his cheek.

"I don't need to know," Nasch whispers. "You're Sir Durbe, my knight. Whatever you once may have done is past. I know my father feels the same."

"The things I did--"

"Aren't important." Nasch shakes his head and touches Durbe's face again. His skin is dry and hot from standing so long in the sun. "I can't do this without you, Durbe. I want you by my side. Please."

"I..."

Nasch watches Durbe close his eyes and grapple with some unknown trouble, something Durbe yearns to say but clearly can't. He reaches up for Nasch's hand, wraps his around it, and slides from the bench to the ground at Nasch's feet. On one knee, he bows his head and, now holding Nasch's hand in both of his, presses it to his forehead.

"I will serve you to my life's end," he whispers.

With his free hand, Nasch brushes Durbe's soft silver hair back, and Durbe finally looks up. How Nasch wants Durbe to rest his head in Nasch's lap while he strokes his hair; how he wants to forget their joint responsibilities and the daunting task ahead of them. But he had told Durbe once not to shirk his duties or forget his oaths, and he won't be the cause of Durbe abandoning the one thing that gave his life meaning. Durbe shouldn't have to run from his future any more than he had run from his past.

And besides, Nasch muses, Durbe's love for him is the pure love of a knight for his king, and nothing more.

"Durbe," he whispers, "you told me that my father didn't want me to learn the sword."

"Yes," Durbe whispers back.

Nasch hesitates. "I... am the king now."

"So you are."

"I want you to teach me."

Durbe nods pensively, as though he'd been expecting this very request for some time now. He releases Nasch's hand. Nasch wishes he would hold it again; he feels an overwhelming sense of loss at the missing comfort. "I will. But I will kill a thousand men in battle if it means you need never stain your own hands in one man's blood."

Once, these words might have chilled Nasch to the bone. Now, they reassured him, because he knew his knight would keep him and his kingdom safe. "I know. Thank you, my knight."


End file.
